


storm clouds.

by zombiejosette



Category: Dark Shadows (1966), Dark Shadows - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejosette/pseuds/zombiejosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>brontide - the low rumbling of distant thunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	storm clouds.

**Author's Note:**

> originally published on tumblr (@slutshaminghamilton) 10/12/2013.

They hear the thunder before the lightning strikes, before the rain falls or the winds pick up beyond a faint whistling through the trees. It catches Victoria’s attention, draws her head round to the window and the darkening clouds that wait outside it.

Roger moves across the drawing room in quick, heavy strides and draws the curtains, and she watches his shoulders relax from under his blazer.

“The sun will be back out soon,” she comments, green eyes following his predicted trail back to the liquor cabinet, his hands grasping the bottle like a rope in the midst of the ocean.

He pours himself a glass, and halts before it reaches his mouth. “And we should submit ourselves to the dreary sight of a downpour just because of that? Really, Vicki, I think you’re becoming more doom and gloom the longer you stay here.”

Victoria says nothing, watches him take a sip - hesitantly, almost - before letting half of of the glass slide down his throat. The thunder rumbles again before setting above the house itself with a loud crash, and Roger jolts.

The glass drops. The liquor spills over the brim and it shatters. The shards skid across the floor and Roger does not look at them, heaving for air. He does not look toward the window.

“You’re afraid.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

She watches him, hand stiff against the corner of the liquor cabinet, watches the set of his mouth and the way he starts to kneel down, then stops. He shrinks against it, it seems; tries to melt himself inside the wood and straightens his back and sets his jaw to remain bigger than he is, taller than the rattling trees just outside the window, louder than the thunder that he’s heard since childhood.

She gets up from the couch, removes her scarf (an old brown thing; ratty with frayed edges - she’s never been fond of it), and presses it to his chest, forcing the amber liquid to soak into it.

She says, gentler this time, “The sun will be back out soon.”


End file.
